Roses in the Hospital
by withinhershadow
Summary: It started with a game of Quidditch and ended one year later in the hospital. Along the way he found a friend, an addiction, a lifeline, a death sentence. When Harry tiptoes between the Dark and Light, will someone be able to pull him from the shadows?
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER**: All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling, and the title of this story is the name of a song by the Manic Street Preachers.

**WARNINGS**: AU, and dark themes such as **depression**, **self-injury**, and **eating disorders**.

**SUMMARY**: It started with a game of Quidditch and ended, one year later, in the hospital. Along the way he found a friend, an addiction, a lifeline, a death sentence. The light and the dark lie within himself as he battles between his mind and his body, between logic and demons. But how can you win the battle when it's yourself that you've been fighting all along?

**BEGINNING NOTES**: I promise that **this will NOT turn out to be another overdone and boring cliché.** As far as characterizations go, I'm going to try to keep this story as close to canon as possible. Snape will probably play a big role in Harry's life at some point, but he's not going to suddenly become Harry's best friend, or turn into the sensitive, concerned parental figure. There will not be hugs, tears, and promises for a better future. I decided to write this story because I was sick of seeing these themes turned into clichés, and I wanted to challenge myself: write an original, creative, dark!Harry, Snape-centric plot.

RitH takes place during Harry's 6th year, but I'm not going to go by the events that happened in the 6th book; it doesn't fit in with the plot I've already decided on. So just pretend it never happened. Okay? Please let me know what you think; I'll try to update at least once every two weeks, but life is crazy at the moment so I can't make any promises.

* * *

_Beep_.

"What happened?"

_Beep_.

"How did he get like this?"

_Beep_.

"Why didn't we notice!"

The sound of quiet sobbing accompanied the ominous beep of the Muggle heart monitor in the background. In the corner, a girl was crying into her palms, head bowed, chestnut hair curtaining the unusually pale face; next to her a boy stood straight and rigid, jaw clenched, hands drawn tightly into fists. They were acutely aware of the presence of the third member of their infamous trio, but the shallow rise and fall of the unnaturally skinny chest did little to console or reassure. The pair's hearts were as heavy and unsteady as the patient's.

_Beep_.

"I'm sorry, but visiting hours are almost over. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you two to leave for the night." Kind brown eyes, an apologetic smile.

_Beep_.

"But – but can't we stay just a little while longer? Please, just five more minutes?"

_Beep_.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot allow that. The patient is very weak and we have a strict…"

_Beep. Beep. Beep.Beep.Beepbeepbeep_…

The white-robed mediwitch trailed off as the gentle beeping gave way to a foreboding wail, similar to the one let out by a weeping Hermione.

Suddenly there were rough hands shoving the two teenagers aside as mediwitches and healers rushed into the room. Strong arms held the pair in place as more alarms went off, and finally, after seconds - minutes, hours, lifetimes? - of pandemonium, the room was again quiet. The visitors went still in the following chilling silence. Was this was a good sign or bad? A confirmation of death, or the beginning of recovery?

Everyone standing in the pristine white room waited anxiously with bated breath as the healer turned to them to deliver the final prognosis.

* * *

**Status**: TBC

**Ending notes**: I hate how this chapter turned out. They won't all be like this, I promise. I _am_ going somewhere (eventually), so please don't judge RitH on the prologue alone.


	2. 1: Contradict me if you dare

**DISCLAIMER**: All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling, and the title of this story is the name of a song by the Manic Street Preachers.

**WARNINGS**: AU, and heavy themes such as **depression**, **self-injury**, and **eating disorders**.

**SUMMARY**: It started with a game of Quidditch and ended, one year later, in the hospital. Along the way he found a friend, an addiction, a lifeline, a death sentence. The light and the dark lie within himself as he battles between his mind and his body, between logic and demons. But how can you win the battle when it's yourself that you've been fighting all along?

**BEGINNING NOTES**: This chapter takes place a few days before the end of Harry's 5th year, and an actual plot will form as soon as he starts his 6th. The timeline is a little off, as are the events (such as Harry being allowed to play Quidditch), but bear with me here. I'm going somewhere.

* * *

**Chapter 1**: Contradict Me if You Dare

(1 year earlier)

Harry stalked across the Quidditch pitch, head bowed and scowling. The memories of the previous game were making the familiar anger swell, and he hated the feeling that he could feel bubbling up to the surface. It was an emotion that was familiar, one that had been threatening to consume him ever since Sirius had fallen through the veil just three weeks ago.

As Harry quickened his pace, he was silently berating himself, his internal taunts echoing those of the laughing and cheering Slytherins on the pitch. He shook his head in disgust and, hearing the sound of rapidly-approaching footsteps, kicked at a mound of dirt on the ground, allowing time for his teammates to catch up.

"Harry! Hey, HARRY, wait up!" Ron yelled, breathless, coming to a stop being Harry.

"It's only a game, Harry," Angelina muttered. But the tone, grim and bitter with disappointment, spoke volumes more than the attempt at soothing words.

"Yeah," came another voice from behind. "And it's only, what, the second game you've lost? In five years! It's no big deal, Harry. Really."

As Harry glanced back, he saw that the expression on Fred's – George's? – face was not one of anger, and took minute comfort in the fact that his words were sincere.(1) Harry gave a feeble attempt at a smile, but he was sure that the contortion of his face made him look like he was about to vomit more than anything else.

The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team surrounded him, all of them repeating the sentiments of Fred and Angelina. With a fresh surge of guilt, and a sense of relief he knew he didn't deserve, Harry realized that none of his friends were truly angry with him – only disappointed that they had lost the Cup to the Slytherins.

_They should be mad_, Harry thought bitterly to himself, but did not let any of the silent self-reproach reach his face.

Angelina had stated, however unconvincingly, that it was only a game, and while Harry's mind recognized and agreed with her logic, in his heart he knew that it wasn't just a stupid lost Quidditch match, or even the fact that he had just handed the Cup over to the Slytherins. It was what the loss symbolized, something so much more personal than a game or competition.

Shaking his head at the confusing thoughts, Harry walked into the locker room, the rest of his teammates trailing after him, and made a silent vow that next year would be different. Next year he would make his friends proud; next year he would make sure that Gryffindor won the Cup.

No matter what.

* * *

(1.) This is AU. So I say that the twins didn't leave school at the end of 5th year. :p

**Status**: TBC


	3. 2: Whispered Words of Sanctuary

**DISCLAIMER**: All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling, and the title of this story is the name of a song by the Manic Street Preachers.

**WARNINGS**: AU, and heavy themes such as **depression**, **self-injury**, and **eating disorders**.

**SUMMARY**: It started with a game of Quidditch and ended, one year later, in the hospital. Along the way he found a friend, an addiction, a lifeline, a death sentence. The light and the dark lie within himself as he battles between his mind and his body, between logic and demons. But how can you win the battle when it's yourself that you've been fighting all along?

**BEGINNING NOTES**: An update! Kind of. A review I received the other day made me realize that I'd let this story die, and reminded me of why I wanted to write it in the first place. The only reason I went so long without updating is because the chapters I'd finished were lost when my computer died last year, and I've been stuck ever since. But I wanted to get back on track with this story so I decided to rewrite and revise what I'd already posted, and split the first chapter into two separate ones. Hopefully, if nothing else, it will inspire me to get moving on some actual new material.

* * *

_The difference between love and comfort  
Is that comfort's more reliable and true  
Brutal and mocking but always there  
A crutch for emnity's saddest glare_

_--_Comfort Comes; Manic Street Preachers

* * *

**Chapter 2**: Whispered Words of Sanctuary

Today was always the worst day for Harry: the end-of-term ceremony, the feast, and the announcement of the winner of the year's House Cup. It was the day before the students would be loaded onto the train for another summer holiday, and while everyone around him was laughing, joking, eating, having a good time, Harry could think of nothing but what the day after would bring. While his peers' spirits soared, Harry's continued to sink.

He pretended not to notice the quick, concerned glances Ron and Hermione exchanged when they thought he wasn't looking, plowed through the meal for the sake of his friends, and even clapped half-heartedly when the Cup was presented to the Slytherins. Beside him, Ron scowled at this small congratulatory gesture, but it did seem to appease Hermione, who nodded her head in approval on Harry's other side.

When it was all over and the Gryffindors returned to their dorm for the night, Harry trudged up the stairs, turning down the butterbeer Dean held out as he passed. As he crawled into bed, Harry drew the curtains and did his best to ignore the party beginning in the common room. He wasn't in the mood to celebrate, and, exhausted as he was, it didn't take long for him to fall into a restless, uneasy sleep, tossing and turning and longing for sunrise. But when the first rays of pink and orange and yellow finally pierced the night sky, illuminating the dreary castle walls, Harry was dismayed to find that, once again, the nightmares did not fade with sleep.

* * *

The ride to King's Cross was a long one for Harry as he forced himself to smile and laugh, but halfway there he wondered why he was even bothering. Hermione, Ron, and now Neville, were still sharing what they thought were discreet looks over Harry's shoulder, and it was clear that none of them were buying into the act. After a while, Harry gave up all pretense and settled for staring sullenly out the window, watching the scenery fly by and only half-listening to Hermione's attempts at conversation.

As soon as they reached the station, Harry managed to slip away from the well-intentioned but overbearing Molly Weasley, and let himself get lost in the crowd. He watched, somewhat detached, as the 7th years hugged their friends tightly with teary-eyed, empty promises to keep in touch, while the younger students said their goodbyes with a pat on the back and a, "See you next year!"

A hand on his shoulder startled Harry out of his daze, and he looked up at Ron, who was pointing to a small crowd of people a few feet in front of them.

"It's Mad Eye, Tonks, Lupin, and my mum and dad," Ron whispered with a smile on his face. Harry's lips also lifted into a grin as he forced himself to focus and overheard snippets of the conversation. He almost laughed outright as Moody lifted his hat at a thoroughly intimidated Vernon Dursley.

Ron, whose maturity had been forced to develop after the past year's events, knew that the upcoming summer with the Dursleys would only worsen the depression Harry was falling into. Over the weeks, he'd watched Harry's downward spiral with a sense of desperation and helplessness, but the sight of the tiny, genuine, smirk on Harry's face caused Ron's own smile to grow. As Harry's expression went blank moments later, Ron wrapped a comforting arm around Harry's shoulder. The gesture was appreciated, Ron thought, because Harry flashed a quick grin up at him before reluctantly dislodging the arm.

As much as Harry craved his isolation these days, at the same time he felt an urge to seek out the comfort his friends had been trying to provide since Sirius' death. The one-armed hug he received from Ron eased his mounting anxiety, but did little to lessen the underlying fear and loneliness that crept to the surface as he watched his uncle storming his way.

Giving Ron one last apologetic smile, he waved goodbye to the rest of his friends and the Order, then picked up his trunk and struggled to drag it over to his uncle's car.

Harry looked back only once, gazing sadly at the world he would be leaving behind, before turning and reaching his right hand over to rub up and down his left arm; it was beginning to itch.

* * *

**Status**: TBC

**Coming up**: Substance, and the beginning of an actual plot.


End file.
